


there’s not a god that can save you from the mess

by ozmissage



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Drunkenness, M/M, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-23
Updated: 2010-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-17 23:33:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozmissage/pseuds/ozmissage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> Damon smirks and swings the door open wide, almost as if he’d been expecting Alaric to show up on his doorstep.</i> AU coda to 1x21.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there’s not a god that can save you from the mess

Sleep won’t come.

One day of having Isobel back in his life is enough to set Alaric back years, back to the sleepless nights staring at infomercials until the first rays of sunlight filtered through his apartment. He fucking hates it. He fucking hates her. ( _He doesn’t. God, he doesn’t._ )

She’s gone again, drove off without so much as a goodbye unless you count the purple bruise blossoming on his neck. He’ll be seeing her fingerprints for days. Every half glance in the mirror a reminder of what his wife has become. _Fuck this._

He tucks a knife in his pants leg, a stake in his jacket, a needle in the back pocket of his jeans then he takes to the dark streets. In a better town, there’d be a bar open, a haven for the sad bastards of the world with nowhere else to go at two in the morning. But this is Mystic Falls. The whole town closes up by midnight. It is a school night after all.

He smiles at his own joke, finds himself laughing under the streetlamp. Damn, he needs a drink.

*

“Isn’t this a school night, Mr. Saltzman?”

Damon smirks and swings the door open wide, almost as if he’d been expecting Alaric to show up on his doorstep. Alaric’s not sure how that’s possible since he had no intention of making his way to Damon’s until he looked up and realized he was there.

“I need a drink,” Alaric says.

To his credit, Damon only nods. For now.

“Oh, but you had one of those already. One or five. You reek, by the way.”

“Just pour me a drink.”

Damon lifts an eyebrow teasingly, his hand hovering over the whiskey bottle.

“Please,” Alaric says through gritted teeth.

Damon tips the bottle, fills the glass. Alaric takes it gratefully. This is familiar too. He doesn’t want to go back to this, doesn’t want to be this man again. Not that he ever really stopped. ( _You think too much,_ whispers the voice inside his head. It still sounds like her.)

“So…”Damon drawls. “You going to tell me all your problems tonight? I ate a psychiatrist in Denver once, so I’m totally qualified to listen.”

Alaric grins despite himself. Damon’s a smug, evil little bastard but he’s not a half-bad drinking buddy. At least he’s not when you’re already drunk and on your way to being drunker.

“Can we not talk tonight? Let’s just get drunk. Quietly.”

“I can do that,” Damon says, then thinks better of it. “Maybe.”

They drink in silence for all of two minutes before Damon begins to talk again. Alaric is amazed he lasts that long.

“It sucks. Love, I mean. In my opinion, it’s completely overrated. And it’s bullshit really. We don’t love people. We _want_ them. It’s all about possession and lust and _fucking_. Hallmark, Nora Ephron---they’re full of it. We don’t need love. We’re better off without it.”

Alaric watches Damon down the last of the bottle. He grimaces for the flair; Alaric knows he doesn’t really feel the burn. Or maybe he does. Maybe that’s the problem. They’re burning, the both of them, and they can’t figure out how to stop.

Everything was easier when Damon was just a monster. He’s beginning to look all to human these days. Alaric doesn’t like it.

“Who are you talking about Katherine or---”

“Shut up, Ric,” Damon warns. His eyes are sharper suddenly, darker.

Alaric sighs, sets his empty glass down and immediately picks it up again. He can’t stand the feeling of his hands being empty right now.

“Does it ever stop?” he asks.

Damon answers without thinking, so Alaric knows it can’t be anything but the truth.

“No.”

He already knew that.

“But we can turn it off for a little while,” Damon says.

He’s beside Alaric in the blink of an eye, his face inches from Alaric’s, devil may care grin firmly in place again.

“What are you doing?” Alaric asks.

Damon’s hand goes to Alaric’s neck; his fingers trace the shadow of the bruise Isobel left there. His touch is almost gentle.

“Just go with it, Ric,” Damon says.

( _I hate you_ , Alaric thinks. _I fucking hate you._ )

The kiss is violent as if the idea occurred to them both at the exact same moment and they wanted to beat each other to the punch line. Damon shoves them onto the floor, onto the rug where he left Alaric for dead no more than two months ago. Alaric shoves back, rolls until he’s on top---the bloodstain is still there.

He rocks his hips against Damon’s, and Damon laughs, pushing back until Alaric is painfully hard. Damon flips them again, taking control back. He runs his tongue over the pulse point in Alaric’s neck and Alaric holds his breath. The bite never comes.

“What are you thinking about right now?” Damon asks.

Alaric shakes his head in confusion.

“I…nothing, I don’t know…”

“Exactly,” Damon says. He leans in for one more kiss and this time he lets his fangs graze Alaric’s bottom lip, drawing the tiniest amount of blood. Damon pulls away, winks. “Go home, Ric.”

He gets up, leaving Alaric alone on the floor, still struggling to catch his breath. Alaric pushes himself to his feet, re-buttons his shirt with shaking hands. Damon leans against the open door. The first tinge of pink is just barely visible in the sky. Alaric pauses at the door.

“I fucking hate you,” Alaric says.

Damon just smiles, too sure of himself for his own good.

“No you don’t,” he says.

Alaric leaves and doesn’t look back. He walks home slowly, calls the principal on his cell feigning illness. His anger is ebbing away, leaving exhaustion in its wake. _Finally_.

The minute he gets home, he collapses on his couch and lets his eyes drift shut.

( _No, I don’t_ , he thinks wearily. _I really, really don’t_.)

And sleep finally comes.


End file.
